


As When We First Begun

by poisontaster



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: First Kiss, Homophobic Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-10
Updated: 2010-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-05 23:56:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1836835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just another undercover op. With lipstick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As When We First Begun

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kiss Bingo, prompt: _other: staged_.

"Jones is watching," Hotch says suddenly, urgently, and then he's pinching Spencer's chin between his fingers, turning Spencer's face toward him and then, oh, there it is, the flex and pressure of Aaron's mouth on his.

For a moment, Spencer worries about his make-up. JJ and Garcia had way too much fun applying the black lipstick and eyeliner, chalk-white powder with a dusting of glitter. It took a long time, though, sitting still and being fussed over in a way that reminded him vaguely of high school, and Spencer isn't in a hurry to repeat the experience.

It takes an embarrassingly longer time for it to penetrate that Hotch—Aaron—is kissing him, a hand curled around Spencer's nape and hooked into the already taut leather of his spiked collar. The other hand bands his bicep, pulling Spencer up onto his toes and into the unforgiving pressure of his—Aaron's—mouth.

Kissing when you both have lipstick on is a little greasier than when it's just one, lips just floating across each other like magnets in opposition. After a moment, Hotch's hand slides down, following the line of Spencer's spine to curve around his butt, encased embarrassingly tight pants. And though they'd practiced…well, not this, but they'd practiced Aaron touching him, so that he didn't jump every time it happened…Spencer flinches anyway, shocked less by someone's hand on his ass than the fact that it's Aaron's hand on his ass, gathering him closer until it feels like there isn't an inch of separation between them from lips to hips.

The next shock is Aaron's tongue, hot, wet curl that takes entrance without asking, nudging Spencer's mouth open and then wide. Spencer wonders if Aaron kisses Haley like this, with this easy confidence…and then feels ashamed of even thinking of it, even as his blood cascades south in a slither of prickling hot and cold.

There's a muttered, "Fucking faggots," as Jones—their suspect—makes his way toward the club's door, jostling hard into them on his way by. Already balanced on his toes, Spencer stumbles, tearing their mouths apart. Aaron catches him, setting Spencer neatly back on his feet, eyes hard as he follows Jones's path out the door. "Morgan, Prentiss, he's on his way to you," Aaron murmurs.

Even with the bud pressed deep in his ear, the affirmatives seem far away, voices from another room, another life.

Then the hardness peels back like a shell as Aaron looks at him, familiar concern. Familiar distance, too, the heat of that kiss passed off as only an act, forgotten already. "You all right?"

It was easier, Spencer thought, that time that Aaron had beaten him, kicked him. At least then he'd had a good reason to feel like crying. "Yeah," he says, voice barely wobbling over the word. "Fine." He squints consideringly at Hotch. "Your lipstick's smudged."

Hotch's smile is brief, preoccupied, but there. He reaches out and brushes his thumb just under Spencer's bottom lip, collecting a stain like bloody soot. "Yeah? So's yours."


End file.
